Wednesday, 20th August, 2003 – World’s Strongest Man

Last night, a hallowed institution from my childhood, that I had not had the pleasure of seeing for many years, made a welcome return to my life. The World’s Strongest Man.

In fact, it was Britain’s Strongest Man – the heats to determine who goes forward to represent Britain in World’s Strongest Man – but essentially, it was the same programme, only with less enormous, chiselled Scandinavians and more portly, red-cheeked retired prison officers from County Durham.

I used to adore World’s Strongest Man. And not – I don’t think – in a homoerotic way. I remember being awestruck by the strength and determination of these man-mountains, watching in disbelief as they lifted dozens of heavy butter-churns over their relatively tiny heads, and pulled Jumbo Jets down runways with their teeth (Jumbo Jets which would then be polished off with a glass of Chardonnay by Monsieur Mange-Tout for the benefit of the 'Just Amazing! cameras.

And, as a sporting competition, I like to think it brought out the best in me. Now, when I watch sport on TV, I tend to fall lazily into supporting – more or less fervently, depending on the sport – England / Great Britain. But I once ended up in tears after being relentlessly teased by my family for supporting Iceland’s Jon-Paul Sigmussen over our own Geoff Capes. For me, it was not about nationality, it was about strength and courage. And on those terms, it was Sigmussen over Capes every time.

However, perhaps the years have soured me, but what was once a noble and thrilling spectacle, last night seemed to me a little bit….well, stupid.

A key moment came during the reverse-Hercules-style task, where the competitor stands between two enormous stone pillars, each one fitted with a hand-grip on the end of a chain, and has to prevent them from falling to the ground. As John Inverdale pointed out; “They are literally being ripped in half!” Well, not literally John….

Some massive bloke called Eddie something, who was a local police officer, took his turn, flexing his fingers and muttering motivational slogans to himself before taking the strain. As the pillars were released, and their enormous weight was borne by Eddie, he grimaced, then puffed his cheeks out, and then grimaced again. As the seconds ticked away, his face grew redder and redder until, lost in a world of (self-inflicted) agony, he lowered his head and hung on for dear life.

I had to stop myself from diving for cover as he put his head down, as his scalp was so purple, and was quivering at such a frequency that I feared it was going to pop off, spraying the camera with blood and grey matter. When he lifted his head again, his face was fixed in an unflattering rictus of suffering.

Then it occurred to me. Just let the pillars go, man. Just let them go. Don’t be such a boob. Suddenly these men stopped being proud warriors in my eyes, and I saw them for what they really are. Enormous, thick-necked muscle-bound goons. Goons who will risk having their blood jet out of their ears for the sake of keeping two motorbikes aloft over their heads for longer than another thick-necked, muscle-bound goon.

At one point, one of the competitors seemed to kiss his own bicep. What a sad, futile gesture. All the straining, the flexing, the screaming, the drooling – all for the sake of vanity. Bah! What are these people trying to prove?

Well, obviously, they are trying to prove that they are Britain’s Strongest Man, but I mean deep down, what are they trying to prove? Perhaps I am making a wild generalisation – and perhaps some might say that I am making this generalisation because I would lose a competition to determine the Strongest Man Between Me and The Late Charles Hawtrey – but I suspect that they all have tiny cocks. And no amount of training, eating two whole roast chickens, washed down with a can of 'Nurishment' drink for breakfast, or steroid-injecting can change this.

So there.

Today, because I am extremely tired, after an almost entirely sleepless night, due to relentless dive-bomb attacks by mosquitos, my entrance music is ‘Road’ by Nick Drake